


clear the runway, prepare for takeoff

by Piyo13



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Post-WWII AU, cold war au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/pseuds/Piyo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 1948. Jean Kirstein, U.S. Airforce pilot, has been called back to Germany in the wake of WWII, in order to assist in the Berlin Airlift. Eren Jäger, West Berlin resident, has been helping unload cargo from British and American planes for almost a month, trying to keep the city of Berlin fed and warm. It's grueling work for the both of them, but they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clear the runway, prepare for takeoff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catsonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsonfire/gifts).



> Dear Squid, Happy fucking Birthday, you wonderfully perfect goof <3

Jean Kirstein, medalled pilot in the U.S. Airforce Squadron II, was scowling. Scarcely three years since the war had ended, scarcely one since he’d been able to return home- and here he was again. Motherfucking Germany. As if the goddamn Krauts hadn’t plunged the world into a five-year-long war, as if none of his friends had died in combat- ha. Like hell Jean wanted to help.

But he was a pilot, technically still on active duty (he’d stayed on because he hadn’t known what to do once he’d gotten back to the states- he’d dropped school to fight, and didn’t much fancy going back), and, now, in Western Germany, waiting for his superior officer to come greet him and set him up with a plane. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Kirstein?”

Jean snapped to attention before recognizing the voice. He broke into a grin. “Captain Levi!”

“Tch, brat. We’re on parade ground, you refer to me as sir, you hear,” grumbled the officer in his French-accented English. His tone was disapproving, but with almost a years’ worth of service with the French forces under him, and Jean could see his slight smile.

“Sorry, Captain Levi, sir,” Jean said, still grinning.

“You flying?”

Jean nodded. Levi hummed.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

“I certainly hope so, sir. Is anyone else here?” as soon as the words left his mouth, Jean regretted them. Levi cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

“Well, Kirstein, I’d suggest you get glasses, seeing as how many people there are around us,” Levi answered, gesturing to the airfield and its bustling clamor. Jean pulled a face.

“You know what I meant,” he whined.

“Hmph,” Levi answered, eyes soft. “ Arlert is here, as are Springer and Braus. Lieutenant General Smith is overseeing this particular airbase, and, unfortunately for all of us, Lieutenant Hange is also present, although he’s probably mucking about with the planes right now.” Jean nodded, catching Levi’s reference to Hange- as long as they were in earshot of others, they had all agreed to protect the female scientist’s true identity.

Jean opened his mouth to answer, when Levi stiffened to attention, his eyes focused warmly over Jean’s shoulder. Jean turned, forming a salute as he caught sight of styled blond hair.

“Lieutenant General Smith,” Levi greeted.

“Captain Levi, nice seeing you,” he said, English accent light. Then he looked at Jean. “Kirstein, I was looking you you- we have your plane ready in the hangar. if you’ll follow me?”

“Sir!” Jean replied, saluting smartly before looking back at Levi. “Nice seeing you, Captain. Mon regards à Zoë.”

“Au revoir,” Levi replied, inclining his head and leaving. Jean turned back to Smith.

“Nice seeing you on this side of the pond,” Smith remarked, and Jean gave him a wry smile.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” he replied. Smith seemed to gather his train of thought, nodding.

“At least you’re here. I’ll need all my best pilots with me, after all.”

Jean grunted, and the two walked in comfortable silence until they reached the hangar, helpfully labelled Hangar A5. Smith held open a side door for Jean, allowing him to pass through. Jean had barely a moment to gasp at the plane before he was attacked.

He fell to the ground, laughing happily under the weight of the person on top of him. “Armin!” he finally managed. “Geroff!”

“Jean! I’m so glad you’re here!” Armin said, Cockney accent thicker than Jean remembered.

“Well I’d like to say the same but I’m currently getting smothered by a mechanic in front of a superior officer…”

“Oh!” Armin exclaimed standing up and brushing off his oil-splattered overalls (to what effect, Jean didn’t know). “Lieutenant Smith, sir!”

Smith smiled and waved Armin off. “At ease.” Duly reassured that he was fine, Armin quickly reverted to his excited state, extending a hand towards Jean to pull him up.

“So! Your plane! Are you excited?”

Jean turned to look at the plane again, grinning broadly in satisfaction. The C-54 Skymaster was sleek, clearly newly painted, and her fuselage was smooth and whole, but scrawled across the side were the words ‘Wings of Freedom’. It was his plane, from the war, that much was beyond a doubt.

“Did you fix her up?” Jean asked Armin. Armin nodded, smiling sheepishly. “You did a great job,” Jean said earnestly.

“In any case,” Smith said, reminding Jean abruptly that he was still there. “You’ll begin flying your routes tomorrow- Braus is in the command room, ask for her and she’ll set you up with maps and the like. Report back tomorrow morning, seven o’clock sharp.”

Jean saluted. “Yessir!”

After Smith left, Jean turned back to Armin. “So, Armin, what’s the latest gossip on the base? Have Connie and Sasha fondued yet?” he said seriously. It was serious business, after all- the sexual tension between the two had been strong enough to kill.

Armin snorted. “As if! No, they’re still both convinced the other sees them as friends. I swear, they afta be blind or something. The only two on the base who can’t see they’re madly in love.” Armin trailed off, shaking his head as well as the wrench in his hand. Jean laughed.

“So, nothing’s changed, is what you’re trying to tell me?”

“...just about,” Armin grinned. “Anyways,” he continued, “You need to get going and memorize those flight charts. The pattern’s right complicated, you know.”

“Geez, trying to get rid of me already?”

“You know it.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going, I’m going,” Jean said, waving at Armin with a smile. He turned to leave, but stopped again  after a few steps. “Uh, where’s command base, again?” Armin rolled his eyes, but pointed Jean in the right direction nonetheless.

With his directions from Armin safely stored in his mind, Jean headed toward the command center, only getting almost run over twice. Of those times, only one had been on purpose- and that had been because of Connie, around whom ‘accidents’ tended to happen with alarming frequency, so Jean didn’t even think that counted. In the end, though, he made it to the center, a drab-looking building, and strode in. He was greeted with stacks upon stacks of maps and a gigantic hug from Sasha.

“Sash!” Jean said, grinning broadly once again. Her hair, though clearly pinned up earlier, had collapsed into a simple ponytail.

“What’re you doing here, Jean? I thought you went back stateside?! Not that I’m not glad you’re here!”

“I was, but apparently some Krauts got themselves stuck behind a Soviet blockade or something. Not very smart of them, if you ask me,” he said, and Sasha giggled.

“I’m guessing you’re here for a flight path debriefing?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Jean replied, mock saluting. Sasha hit him in the head with a rolled-up piece of paper she’d grabbed off a nearby table.

“No time for your cheek here, mister,” she said, but nonetheless smiled broadly as she led him to a small table in the corner of the room. Once there, she spread out the roll, revealing a map of Germany. She tapped a small dot, superscripted by the word _‘Wiesbaden’._ “Right, here’s where we are now, and…” her finger hovered above the map for a couple of seconds, before she tapped it down further along. “…here is West Berlin. The flight path is pretty self-explanatory. You’ll be flying in a direct trajectory from our base here to the airport in West Berlin. 2.4346 degrees north, 5.1419 degrees east of here…”

“I really hope you have that on paper for me…”

“Of course, can’t let our best pilots get lost now, can we?” Sasha grinned, batting her eyelashes at Jean. “Anyways,” she continued, “It should take you about an hour and a half. You’ll be piloting with Connie, and your crew will be Milius Zeremunski and Nack Tius. They’ve been instructed to meet you at the hangar tomorrow morning at 0600, and then the four of you will meet with Lieutenant General Smith at 0700. Flights start at 0730. Um… right! Your return flight is the same deal, just… backwards. And the airport you’ll be radioing is Tempelhof. Uh… any questions?”

“…why did I join the Airforce again?”

* * *

Landing in Berlin was an experience. He flew low over the buildings, the airport just barely far enough away to allow his plane to land safely. Once landed, he followed the ground-crew-signed directions until he was directed to park, and then Jean and Connie turned off all the motors.

“Ready?” Jean asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Connie replied. The two then exited the cockpit, opening the cargo doors of the plane as they did so. They joined up with Milius and Nack, and the four of them disembarked together, heading around to greet the Germans who would be helping them unload their two-thousand pounds of flour.

Jean would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious- here were people he’d spent almost three years _fighting_ , and now they were allied and trying to _help_ them. _What would they be like?_

The answer, apparently, was exceedingly polite and grateful.

One man in particular approached Jean, his eyes so light brown they almost seemed gold. He roughly thrust his hand forward at Jean, who, after a beat, shook it. Tears gathered in the man’s eyes, and he turned his head away slightly to wipe them off, giving Jean a better view than he’d asked of the man’s throat (not that Jean was looking).

“Thank you,” the man said, accent thick but his words nonetheless understandable. “Thank you.”

* * *

 He saw the gold-eyed German every time he stopped to unload after that, for a solid month.

After that, he’d finally found the courage to ask for a name, in one of the ten-minute gaps of time allowed by Tunner’s schedule for unloading.

Now he saw Eren Jäger every time he stopped to unload- ten minutes of time, every couple of hours.

* * *

It took them about a month to reach first-name basis, and another month for them to become relaxed enough around each other that they could happily exchange barbed insults. By now, they were fully into winter, and unloading took record-low times, even as the shipments of cargo had to be increased as much as possible.

“Hey, Eren,” Jean said, rounding to the back of his plane with a warm cup of coffee in hand, half-willing to help unload. “How are you Berliners doing, anyways?”

Eren grunted as he lifted a bag of flour. “Doing all the work, while you Americans drink all our coffee!”

“Hey!” Jean grumbled, purposefully taking an obnoxiously loud sip. “We _brought_ the coffee, we have a right to drink it, asshole.”

“ _Beschissener Arschloch_ ,” Eren muttered back at him, giving him half a smile.

“I don’t speak potato,” Jean replied, but Eren was off, bringing the heavy flour sack with him. Jean walked after him, still sipping his coffee. And maybe checking out that ass. Not because he was gay, but- well, no, he was gay. And Eren had a _damn_ fine ass.

“Everything is rationed,” Eren finally said, heaving the bag into the truck and turning back for another one. “But things could be worse.”

“Mm,” Jean said, humming into his cup. “What would you say is _most_ rationed?”

“Most?” Eren asked as he walked back to the truck, more flour in his arms. “Chocolate.”

“Mm.”

* * *

A week later, Jean gave Eren an entire bar of chocolate, upon which Eren had exclaimed, rather exuberantly, that he could kiss him right now. Jean flushed, trying not to let his body show just how much he wanted that to happen.

Because, sadly, Eren was just his asshole German friend, and would never be anything more.

On the way back, Connie asked him who the girl was. Jean laughed him off, saying he’s just done a favor to a friend.

“Sure,” Connie had replied, leaning towards the windows to look down at the East German countryside. “Sure.”

* * *

It was the first time Jean had visited Eren’s home. His Skymaster had had an ice fracture in the sheet metal on the wing, and that section had to be replaced- trapped as he was in West Berlin, he was granted leave for a day. Leave which, thankfully, Eren had been more than happy to accompany him on- how he’d managed that one, Jean had no clue, but he was very, very thankful. They’d spent the day wandering the streets of Berlin, throwing insults at each other between tour-guide-like blurbs that Eren gave him.

Then, for dinner, Eren had taken him to his place- it was a small apartment, just a bathroom, a kitchen, and one room that served as both living room and bedroom. Eren had flushed a bit when Jean entered.

“We can eat dinner here… I don’t have much, but…”

“No, it’s fine. I um. By the way,” Jean said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the little packet he’d been fiddling with all day. “I brought you some more chocolate. It’s kind of melted, sorry, and not an entire packet this time, but-”

“No, it’s perfect,” Eren said, grinning widely. It was a grin that reached straight into Jean’s soul and tore at him. “We can have dessert tonight!”

“Yeah…” jean said, watching as Eren moved into the kitchen, reaching up to a pantry to pull down a small box. Inside, there were several rolls of bread, and Eren selected two.

“Here,” he said, taking a cloth napkin from a stack on the counter and handing that and a roll of bread to Jean. “Your _Brötchen._ And I think I may still have a little bit of cheese somewhere…” Eren gestured to the table, and Jean sat down. Eren looked inside his coolbox, and pulled out a small slice of cheese triumphantly. Bringing it back over to the table, he split it with Jean, and the two ate their simple dinner, simply enjoying the other’s company. Even _if_ the other was a sexy asshole.

Once they were done, Eren carefully split the chocolate between the two of them, and then much less carefully stuffed his face. Jean laughed at the sight, eating his own chocolate a bit slower and giving Eren a bit more. Eren, in his haste, had a bit of chocolate smudged against the corner of his lips, and before Jean had properly thought about it, he had reached over and was brushing away the chocolate with his thumb.

Both of them froze a second later, Eren staring at Jean with wide eyes, Jean hurriedly retracting his hand and awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Um,” Eren said, after a too-long silence. Jean stood up.

“Thank you for dinner and showing me around, I should get back to the base before they close, I need to get in to sleep and all.”

“Ah, right, _stimmt,”_ Eren said, also standing up. He didn’t meet Jean’s eyes as he showed him out the door. Jean didn't get walked back to the base.

* * *

Next time, Jean brought Eren a small packet of three lollipops instead.

* * *

The next time Jean had leave in Berlin, he went with Eren as well. After an awkward dinner, Jean finally cracked.

“Eren, are you okay? You seem… not yourself.”

Eren looked up at him, blinking a few times, a series of emotions running across his face, none of which Jean could accurately identify. Eren returned his gaze to his napkin, which he was twisting with his fingers.

“Jean… can I ask you something?” he said, quietly. And nervously, if Jean didn’t know any better.

“…yeah, of course. What is it?”

“Jean. Do you. Like me,” Eren said, finally looking back up and meeting Jean’s gaze. Jean was frozen, his mind in overdrive. Was Eren- could he possibly be suggesting-

“Uh, I mean, yeah, right? I’m… eating dinner at your house, and you’re my asshole German friend…” he chuckled nervously, not wishing to take Eren’s comment too far. Eren, however, seemed to have other plans, giving Jean a frustrated growl in response.

“No, no, as… as more than an asshole friend.” Now Jean was sure. Or two things, really: first, that he hadn’t misinterpreted what Eren had meant, and second, that Eren _was_ nervous. _Well, shit. Do I tell him?_

Realizing that he’d been staring at Eren for the better part of half a minute already, Jean decided to Hell with everything, he might as well be honest. So he cleared his throat and took a breath. “Yeah,” he said, feeling like his throat was constricting him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Me, too,” Eren replied, and then he was kissing Jean.

* * *

The subsequent flights were Hell for Jean. Knowing he could see Eren, but only for ten minutes at a time, and not even in a place where they could freely kiss- yes, that was Hell. But they managed, Jean still doting sweets on Eren and Eren using any opportunity he had to touch Jean- little touches, brushes of the shoulder, a hand against his arm- but little touches that nonetheless conveyed everything they wanted and wished for.

‘Asshole’ had become a term of endearment (it could have been argued that it had been that earlier, but the difference was that now both of them knew for sure).

“You and Eren seem to be getting along better,” Connie mentioned as they stepped back into the cockpit. Jean raised an eyebrow at him, feigning ignorance.

“Nah, he’s still a fucking asshole.”

“Sure, but you haven’t called him a motherfucking Kraut in at least a month,” Connie pointed out, smiling. Jean opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss of what to say- what if Connie knew, and then he could tell- “It’s okay to have friends, you know,” Connie continued, slapping Jean playfully on the shoulder.

“Haha, right…” Jean said, breathing a relieved sigh.

* * *

“Eren,” Jean said, staring at the ceiling instead of the man tucked into his arm- Jean had long since stopped spending his overnights in Berlin at the base. Eren shifted, resting his cheek against Jean’s shoulder and grunting sleepily.

“We’ve been taking people back for a while now,” Jean said.

“Yes?” Eren replied, sounding confused.

“And they say the Blockade is going to end in a week.”

“…yes.”

“Eren,” Jean said, pushing himself up on his elbow, to better look down at his lover. “You said you didn’t have any family here…”

“Not anymore, no.”

“Do you- would you like to come back to America with me?” Jean finally asked, nervously biting his lip. Eren didn’t move.

“Jean, you… are you…”

“I’m serious. I could take you back, we could live together there, no one would have to bother us-” Jean was shut up by a heady kiss.

“ _Ja,_ yes, please, I will come with you!” Eren said, excitement filtering through the air. Jean grinned broadly, a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying suddenly gone from his shoulders. He leaned forward, planting a kiss on Eren’s nose.

“We leave tomorrow morning, what do you say?”

“I’ll tell Frau Hubar, my neighbor, she’ll take care of the apartment… Jean, _Du Arschloch_ , could you not have given me a bit more time?”

“Sorry,” Jean said sheepishly. “I was worried you’d say no…”

Eren scoffed. “You are silly,” he said. “Of course I want to come with you… to America! Wow…”

“Oh, but you’ll have to spend several days in Wiesbaden, at our base, before we head back.”

“Mm, that is fine,” Eren said, snuggling back into Jean’s side. “Tomorrow…” he yawned, and Jean chuckled.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, running his fingers through Eren’s hair.

“Yes…” Eren breathed in reply, soon fast asleep.

_Eren’s coming home with me_ , Jean thought. He was utterly incapable of removing the smile from his face.

* * *

At the base, Eren was quick to make friends with, well, almost everyone. Armin, especially, he’d taken a liking to, and over the course of his stay, Eren learned, in his own words, ‘more than I ever wanted to about how to fix planes’.

Jean was almost jealous of the attention the blond was getting, but the sweet German nothings Eren whispered into Jean’s ear at every opportunity he got reassured Jean. And made him want Eren then and there, which was much less convenient. The asshole.

* * *

The day before they departed for America, Jean presented Eren with an orange. Eren almost cried, and Jean pointed out that that was how they’d met. Eren had punched his arm hard enough to bruise.

* * *

It had been three years since Jean’s second stint of service, flying his Skymaster- and his friends- in the Berlin Airlift. He was now working in a small corner shop, living in the apartment above it, right next to his own, living, breathing, certified German asshole.

Whom he may or may not have told, the night before, that he loved.

(For what it was worth, his certified German asshole had said he returned the sentiment.)

Jean Kirstein, medalled pilot in the U.S. Airforce Squadron II, was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who cares, I took many, many historical liberties with this. A few things that nonetheless remain true:  
> -Douglas C-54 Skymaster was the "workhorse" of the American portion of the Airlift  
> -which did in fact occur from June '48 to May '49  
> -Wiesbaden, Hessen, was the main US military base (and continues to be a base in modern day)  
> -C-54s had a crew of four  
> -Tunner did, in fact, reorganize the Airlift into a much, much more efficient pattern- there were three minutes of lag between each plane, and if the plane didn't manage to land on the first try, they had to go back fully loaded, so as not to clog the airspace. You can read more about this on wikipedia, they do a better job of explaining than I do!  
> -soldiers were allowed to take people back with them  
> \- oh and the orange thing- the first shipment to Berlin once the Blockade was lifted was a truck full of oranges
> 
> everything else is pretty much made up, whoops. if you have any questions ~~i.e, Jean's plane is a cargo plane because he shipped soldiers and supplies around during the war rather than doing too much actual fighting- occasional bomb run though~~ or complaints or simply wish to lecture me about Berlin Airlift history, i'm all ears


End file.
